


the pillow thief

by polkadot



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil gets an early flight home and finds a surprise in his bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pillow thief

“Honey, I’m home!” 

It’s 1 AM, so Neil’s announcement is mouthed into the open air of his kitchen rather than voiced. If there’s one thing he doesn’t need after a cross-country flight, it’s woken 2-year-olds to soothe back to sleep.

He drops his keys into the bowl by the microwave and dumps his suitcase by the couch. Settling in can wait until tomorrow. For now, there’s a bed upstairs with his name on it, a David in it to snuggle up to, and some seriously plush sheets to luxuriate in.

(So why is he just getting in at 1 AM? Neil’s schedule is pretty much insane. Most of the time he’s grateful that it is – it means he’s succeeding, if slotting a new engagement into his planner is more than a bit like playing Tetris. And with the help of Red Bull (seriously, he doesn’t know why he doesn’t yet have an endorsement deal with those guys, he should get his people on it), Neil likes to think he’s pretty damn good at career-Tetris. More than pretty damn good, in fact. Fucking awesome.)

Drinking from the milk carton – oh, it’s good to be home – Neil checks the front of the fridge for announcements. No new Disneyland discount flyers, but apparently their favorite local delivery place is doing a new special on Tuesdays. Score. Not that David doesn’t cook meals worthy of Wolfgang Puck, but sometimes you don’t want to spend all that time in the kitchen, if you can be doing other things.

(Other things. Oh, yes. Neil’s awesomeness does have its drawbacks. Most importantly, he’s getting seriously less sex than he used to. Not that David’s withholding – oh, the first six months with the twins were difficult because David was usually sleep-deprived, and your lover falling asleep with your cock in his mouth is not particularly sexy, but these days David is back to jumping his bones if given the smallest chance.

The problem lies in giving him the chance.)

David’s put new drawings up. Harper’s apparently going through a stage in which her favorite crayon is bright red. It gives her coloring book pages from _Beauty and the Beast_ an almost slasher quality, particularly since she hasn’t yet learned about things like lines, or simply disdains them. Blood-red scribbles _everywhere_. Gideon, meanwhile, is more of an abstract artist; Neil wonders how long his fingertips were stained after that particular experiment in finger paints. Although finger paint is probably washable these days – at least, Neil hopes so, or he’s afraid he’s going to find the dogs with rainbow streaks in their fur from affectionate little fingers.

(Giving David the chance. Yes. It’s just that they’re not physically in the same place enough these days. Neil tries his best, but even when he manages to make it home to sleep at night – and it’s a point of pride to him that he does more often than not – either David’s already asleep, or Neil himself is too tired for anything too strenuous. Sleepy handjobs are all well and good, but sometimes Neil feels like he’s been subsisting on them for too long. And morning sex is out of the question because the twins wake up at 7 exactly and neither he nor David is up to getting up at 5 or 6 on a regular basis. They’re Broadway night owls by nature. Mornings are for cursing and pulling the pillows over your head, not for fucking.)

Milk swigged and returned to its proper place, Neil ducks into the downstairs bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face without waking the house. It’s possible, if unlikely, that David will still be awake, if there’s a marathon of _Survivor_ on or if he’s working on a project. Usually, though, David tries to keep to a reasonable sleep schedule – and lectures Neil on the perils of sleep deprivation – so it’s far more likely that Neil’s going to find an angelically sleeping pillow hog sprawled out across their bed. David doesn’t believe in sides unless Neil’s around to defend his territory.

(It’s not like having less sex is a _problem_ , exactly. Neil may play Barney, but he thinks he can keep it in his pants and be an adult about things. Having sex twice a day may perhaps have been an unsustainably high level to expect to maintain forever, particularly once they added a family into the mix. Twice a week – even if at least one of those is often half-asleep – is probably higher than a lot of people manage. As long as it doesn’t go to twice a month, he thinks they’re okay. He’s always got his dependable right hand, and David’s a filthy sexter. As a result, Neil may have recurring nightmares about losing his phone and having its contents leaked to the media – while those in the know may remember David’s nude role in _The Play About the Baby_ and the legendary status certain of his attributes quickly attained, they’ve never had any photographic proof before – but in the meantime it’s a constantly giving treasure. If they aren’t having quite as much real life sex as Neil would love to have, they’re still going strong. He’s not complaining.)

As Neil tiptoes up the stairs, he hears the low hum of the TV from their bedroom, and can’t quite help the smile that breaks out across his face. So David _is_ awake. 

(Who’s he kidding? Of course Neil wants to have sex tonight.)

Neil pushes open their door. 

Neil finds David’s varying facial expressions to be endlessly fascinating. There’s the deeply intrigued one that he puts on when an interviewer is boring or inane, just to try to crack Neil up; the completely smitten one that shines through whenever Harper or Gideon do something new or particularly cute even for them; the blissfully orgasmic one that flits across his face when he puts something delicious in his mouth (hey now, Neil’s talking about food, David’s a chef – the other meaning has a different face entirely); the curiously intent one that should by rights make Neil feel like a bug under a microscope but instead makes his face flush and his hair stand up.

And then there’s the expression on David’s face right now: pure untroubled slumber.

(Dammit.)

David’s curled up in the middle of their bed, somehow managing to commandeer all the myriad pillows, including Neil’s own. He’s even hugging one, which seems like overkill to Neil, but then he’s not the one who needs multiple pillows to feel comfortable. One for his head will do him. David’s the one who likes a gaggle.

There’s an indentation on David’s face from where he must have rested his face on his hand earlier. Neil twists his own ring, a habit he’s found himself slipping into lately. It’s become such a part of him over the years; he thinks it’ll feel alien when he finally does get to switch it to his left hand. No stranger, though, than finally being able to lay claim to the word ‘husband’ – he forms his mouth around the word, tasting it on his tongue. They don’t have a date yet, although Neil’s aware that David would set one in a heartbeat, but he knows it’s getting closer. Inevitable, like the tight feeling in his chest when David murmurs in his sleep and hugs the pillow closer.

David has his favorite pajamas on, soft and worn, his bare feet peeking out from under the covers. He never can sleep with his feet too hot. Neil changes into his own pajamas as quietly as he can, grateful for the covering noise of the TV. How like David to fall asleep with the light and the TV on, after all his talk about the importance of uninterrupted and untroubled sleep. Their lives are just too busy for principle, too full for serenity.

“I was on my way toward – a _perfect week_.” 

Neil hasn’t been paying much attention to the low background noise of the TV, but his own voice, followed by the sound of the cheery theme tune he knows so well, brings his head whipping around in confusion. 

“The perfect week!” Barney says confidently, as the theme dies away. God, it never stops being strange to look at his own mug on television, no matter how many years he’s been doing it. “Seven nights, seven girls, zero rejections.”

Neil finds the remote and rejects him. The TV winks out, leaving the room eerily and suddenly silent, and Neil still blinking at the remote in his hand.

“Neil?” David’s voice is confused, sleepy.

Neil sets the remote down and turns. David has let go of the pillow he was cuddling and is now rubbing his eyes. “Hey, you.”

Yawning, David pushes himself into a sitting position and scoots over to his proper side of the bed. “I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow afternoon.”

Neil slides under the covers next to him and leans down for a hello kiss. David’s mouth is sleep-warm as it presses against his, and for a moment he’s tempted to lose himself in it. But no, there’s a few things to be covered first. “I got an earlier flight. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“I like surprises,” David murmurs, and slips a hand under Neil’s pajama shirt.

“You wake up quickly,” Neil says, diverted. David’s hand is light but purposeful as it brushes across his stomach, and it’s been too long since this happened. His nipples are already straining for David’s touch, and it’s been all of two seconds. God, he’s shamefully eager for this.

From David’s grin, he’s been caught. “So do you, apparently.”

Neil would have made an appropriate retort, but just then a fingernail catches his aching nipple and he finds himself sucking in a quick breath instead.

“Oh, Neil,” David says, softly, and the way his voice caresses his name has always turned Neil on, and he hears himself make a small embarrassing sound, as David’s fingers become more purposeful.

David hmms thoughtfully, then grins again. “Suddenly,” he says, swinging a leg over Neil’s hips and hauling himself over into a straddle, “I feel very awake indeed.”

Neil is dimly aware that he meant to broach something about bedtime TV habits and a certain Barney Stinson, but David’s leaning down to kiss him, and the only thing that feels important now is that he get his hand in David’s hair and his tongue in David’s mouth as fast as humanly possible.

~//~

“Please,” Neil says, “ _please_ ,” and David’s mouth is so hot and wet, and his hands are _everywhere_ , and David may say in interviews that Neil can do everything and is half robot, but Neil thinks it’s David who can do everything, although he’s certainly not half robot, not when he’s doing _that_ , and not when he’s touching just _there_ , and fuck, Neil can’t think straight, not now, not when his mind is spinning around singing metaphorical showtunes and his mouth seems to be directly linked to his cock and the sounds he’s making aren’t under his control in the slightest.

~//~

“Please,” David says, “ _please_ ,” and Neil grins, clearer-headed now but no less intent, and leans back in, determined to make David as loopy as he himself has been, and if that requires the use of a talented tongue, well, that’s something Neil’s always had, although the whine David’s just made is destroying Neil’s powers of concentration and everything’s going a bit primeval, and David’s starting to tell Neil exactly what he wants done to him and Neil’s always been powerless to resist that voice, and the headboard after all is cushioned because they aren’t stupid, no crashing sounds in the night to wake the children, and fuck, fuck, fuck, no matter how many times they do this it’s no less magical, no less fast and hard and needy and mindblowing and perfect.

Neil leans down and kisses the gasps out of David’s mouth.

~//~

“So,” Neil says after, with David snuggled languidly against his side. “The twins have their lullaby to put them to sleep, and you have me on _How I Met Your Mother_. Excellent taste.”

David screws up his nose. “Oh, shut up.”

 _Huh_. Neil raises an eyebrow in surprise. He’d only been teasing, but David looks genuinely embarrassed. “Wait a minute. You do?”

David elbows him. “Yes, you’re just boring enough to cure insomnia. Shut up and go to sleep.”

“You can do better than that,” Neil says, chidingly. “And I’m not sleepy. It’s like morning in East Coast time. My internal clock is all screwed up.”

“If you don’t go to sleep you’ll regret it. Babies’ll be up soon.”

Despite Neil’s best tutoring efforts, David’s attempt at a raised eyebrow is not nearly imposing enough to give people pause. Neil sails past it. “But see, I have this awesome fiancé who’s going to let me sleep in.”

“Is that right? And why would I do that?”

“Because I just fucked you until you saw stars?” Neil offers.

David sighs and tucks his head against Neil’s side. “Failing to see how that’s a motivation. Over and done with.”

“Because otherwise I’ll tease you about missing me so much you fell asleep to the straight version of me?”

“I could pinch you,” David says. “Don’t think I won’t.” 

Neil looks down at his dark head. He really feels quite happy with the world at the moment. Perhaps a bit of charity is in order. “Did you really miss me that much?”

(Neil thinks of big hotel rooms and cold beds, of falling into bed so tired he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow, of sterile sheets and lonely nights. He thinks of their place in New York, lovely and welcoming, but still not-home without David there at the end of the day. He thinks of rescheduling flights, just so that he can have his David in his arms those few hours sooner.)

For a moment he doesn’t think David’s going to answer, but then David says quietly, “I always miss you that much. Why do you think I sleep with your pillow?”

“Because you’re a pillow hog,” Neil says immediately. “A pillow thief. A pillow…”

“Because it smells like you,” David says, cutting him off, then shifts uncomfortably. “That came out sounding creepy. Ignore that. Go to sleep.”

Neil stares at the ceiling for a minute. 

(He thinks of nights when he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in unfamiliar beds, knowing he had work in the morning and all the Red Bull in the world couldn’t make up for an entirely sleepless night. He thinks of nights where he finally turned over and reached for his phone, knowing that however late it was, that familiar voice would pick up, and the tension would flood out of his shoulders like water. He thinks of David’s voice on the line, chattering on about Gideon and Harper and the dogs and new recipes and Gaga and his latest audition, of falling asleep with that voice in his ear.)

“Maybe a bit creepy,” he says, finally.

“Oh God.” David sounds murderous. “I was almost gone. Stop ruining the sex endorphins and _go to sleep_.”

Neil frowns. “But I had an idea.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” David says. “Fine. What’s this grand idea?”

Neil tugs the covers up further, cocooning them in snuggly warmth. “I can record myself reading something boring for nights when you can’t sleep. That way you don’t have to leave the television on and disturb your sleep, _and_ you don’t have to listen to Cobie and Josh and all the others. Which would put anyone off their rest.”

“An important point,” David says, already sounding half-asleep again. “Can I still do the pillow thing?”

Neil _has_ just had fantastic sex. He’s feeling magnanimous. “Yes. If you help me with a little project.”

“Whassat?”

Neil bends his head to brush his lips over David’s hair. “I call it, the _perfect week_.”

“Sounds like a plan,” David says, through a yawn, and falls asleep.

Neil smiles, and closes his eyes.

~//~

Gideon’s interrogatory greeting of the morning comes through the baby monitor at 7 AM, just like clockwork. Damn babies’ internal timekeeping systems.

David groans, but starts to sit up.

Neil pushes him back down into the pillows. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got this.”

“You just took a cross-country flight,” David says, blinking sleepily up at him. “I don’t mind.”

Neil smiles at him, and claims a quick kiss, morning breath be damned. “I know. But see, I’m an awesome fiancé, and one of the ways I show my awesomeness is by things like this.”

“My hero,” David says, and pulls him back down insistently for a more thorough kiss. 

“Have to go deal with babies,” Neil says regretfully, after a long and fascinating moment. “Hold that thought for later?”

He’s halfway to the door when David calls after him. “Neil?”

He turns. David looks thoroughly debauched, sprawled under their rumpled covers and pillows, a long naked leg peeking out. Neil’s heart flips over. “Yup?”

David smiles, a long wicked smile that doesn’t help certain problems in Neil’s nonexistent pants. (Ah. Better find where those pajama bottoms ended up before going to get the babies.) “It’s going to be a perfect week.”

“Promises, promises,” Neil says, as David closes his eyes against the morning sunshine, and Neil gives up on finding his own pajama pants and steals David’s, which somehow ended up hanging on the doorknob. One of them has good aim, although Neil can’t quite remember who.

He takes one look back over his shoulder at the sleeping Adonis in his bed, and then slips out, whistling a jaunty and familiar tune.

Perfect week, here he comes.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> _“Le suprême bonheur de la vie, c’est la conviction qu’on est aimé...”_  
>  ~ Victor Hugo


End file.
